by David Wilikofsky
Chat is a byproduct of old lead-zinc mining techniques, lead-infested waste mixed with rock fragments; in some cases, entire cities became uninhabitable because of the chat piles strewn across them. It’s an apt name for the band Chat Pile, an Oklahoma City group who have steadily built buzz over the past few years on the strength of two self-released EPs. They make music that feels nearly as lethal as their namesake, noise rock in the vein of the Jesus Lizard and the Amphetamine Reptile catalog. Their debut album, God’s Country, is a series of violent, ugly and deeply powerful songs that meditate on the rot at the core of modern American culture.
God’s Country seethes and rages, a mixture of dark character studies and cultural commentary. The former utilize crashing riffs to illuminate the inner turmoil of their subjects, from the suicidal narrator of “grimace_smoking_weed.jpeg” to the mourning, raging one of “Pamela”. The latter conjure up the dystopian nightmares far too close to our reality for comfort. “Why” questions why we allow homelessness to persist in one of the richest countries in the world; “Anytime” details a mass shooting in gory details, brain matter and guts strewn over the narrator’s shoes. Even the quietest track on the album, “I Don’t Care If I Burn”, offers no respite, a tale of murderous revenge punctuated with ear curdling screams.
Heavy music sometimes doesn’t connect with me because the songs don’t feel like they merit the intensity surrounding them, but that’s never an issue here. It’s in part a testament to the songwriting, whose vivid imagery proves a worthy foil for the band’s largely high octane instrumentals. But it’s also because the subjects that Chat Pile are tackling necessitate it. Issues like homelessness and gun violence permeate our society, yet we seem unable to take steps towards any meaningful change. Chat Pile’s songs may not offer solutions, but God’s Country represents a visceral and much needed howl of rage against the status quo.